


Floriography

by WolffyLuna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (5+2 things technically), 5+1 Things, Comedy of Errors, F/F, Flower Language, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and mild angst, Humour, Illustrated, Romantic Comedy, Secret Admirer, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 00:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/pseuds/WolffyLuna
Summary: Cassandra and Josephine send each other messages coded in flowers. Unfortunately for them, usingdifferentflower languages.Or; Cassandra makes awkward and over the top romantic gestures, Josephine tries to reciprocate, and Varric doesn't help.Or; 5 times Cassandra and Josephine communicated in flowers, and 2 times it worked as intended.





	Floriography

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Froggimus_Rex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggimus_Rex/gifts).



> For Froggimus_Rex's request for Josie/Cass: "Awkard, squishy, romantics, making awkward squishy romantic gestures, yes. Maybe it's an arranged marriage, maybe Varric decided to be 'helpful', maybe Cassandra is having a internal freak out because she legitimately thought she wasn't into women at all and what does she do now." 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this, and it grew much bigger than I expected. I hope you like it!

Cassandra knew how to sneak. She’d learned in her Seeker training. The Seekers did work obviously at times, but it is much easier to catch wrongdoing if your presence isn’t known, or your importance is dismissed. Half the time, the trick was looking you were meant to be there, were merely part of the scenery. 

This was easy enough in Skyhold. She _was_ meant to be there. Her walking down pretty much any corridor wasn’t surprising or odd or notable. 

But she still used the techniques she’d learned to look more in place. Cassandra walking through Skyhold: Not strange. A nervous Cassandra: very strange. So she walked briskly, back straight, eyes firmly on the horizon line, and hoped no one noticed it was an act. 

She opened the door to Josephine’s office, and poked her head through. She didn’t ‘peek’. Peeking was too nervous-looking, too suspicious. She stuck her head through, like she was just checking to see if Josephine was where she thought she was. 

Josephine _was_ where Cassandra thought she was: not in her office. 

Cassandra walked in. 

The other trick to sneaking was making anything that looked suspicious look less so. 

She put her basket on Josephine’s desk. To someone not looking close, inside sat a bundle of weeds. Probably taking it to compost heaps out the back, they’d think. Bit odd for someone so high ranked to be weeding, but not of character. Cassandra’s just the sort of person to micromanage that. Ha Ha. They wouldn’t look into the centre of it. Why would they? It was weeds. 

Cassandra’s palms sweated in her gloves, as she unwrapped the bundle. Swaddled in the Salvation Jane and ragwort and sow thistle, rested a bouquet. A proper one, with flowers people actually liked, tied up with ribbon dyed larkspur yellow. Mimosa and gardenia for secret admiration, morning glory for growing affection, and angrec for courtliness or no expectation for a return of affection. (It was, almost flower for flower, the bouquet Prince Markus di Albiette had given Clara in _Pierced Hearts._ It was translated from Antivan, which suited Cassandra’s purposes. Josephine would know Antivan floriography.)

Cassandra laid the bouquet on Josephine’s desk, resting on top of a pile of papers. Cassandra gathered up the weeds, walked out, and marched towards the compost heap. 

Cassandra hadn’t expected to fall for Josephine. She was very _noble_. But she was kind and careful and cared beyond reputation and appearance. She of course cared about those things, of course, it was her job, but she cared for more. Cared for higher things. She cared more about people than what those people thought of her. 

It was fascinating to watch. A whole new paradigm of nobility. It was charming. Wonderful. A whole lot of other adjectives too. (The nice thing about reading is you could outsource your words. Cassandra struggled to find the right ones even in her own head.)

There were other reasons the fall for Josephine was surprising. Cassandra had assumed the fact that the only men she had liked were fictional was merely high standards. None had tried to sweep her off her feet, and she’d fall hard for the one who tried. And... maybe so. That was still plausible. 

But Josephine was sweeping and charming with the best of them. (Not literal sweeping, of course. But the affect was similar.) But there was no reason to expect Josephine to feel the same. And even if Josie liked Cassandra’s personality traits, there was the matter of who that personality was attached to. 

It wouldn’t do to get her hopes too high. 

But Cassandra could be a secret admirer. It didn’t matter who a secret admirer was, just their admiration. All facts about them were irrelevant. Josephine didn’t have to love Cassandra. She didn’t even have to love her secret admirer. She just had to be loved. 

It wasn’t enough. 

It had to be enough. 

***

Josephine walked into her office, carrying a pitcher of water from the kitchens. She glanced over at her desk. Josephine didn’t do a double take, but she did pause when she saw them. A bunch of flowers sat on her ‘finished’ pile.

She didn’t mind people going into her office as such... but sneaking in flowers was unusual. Unexpected. It would be one thing if someone had placed a pile of mail on her desk, but flowers?

She picked them up. It had a coherent theme at least. Soft purples clashing with harsh whites, large flowers jostling for space and creating a jumble of white petals, morning glories looking like polka dots, and sprays of mimosa as a filler. It wasn’t a usual set of choices, a professional would likely go for a wider array of colours, or stick to only one. Handmade then. Nothing wrong with handmade. It was just another interesting tidbit about whoever had done it. 

Looking over her desk, nothing else had moved. Whoever had brought flowers hadn’t done so to sneak anything out, or any other similar subterfuge. 

A nice gesture then. A slightly startling gesture, but still nice. She rolled it over, trying to see if there were any notes attached to the ribbon. There were none. Whoever had put it there was keeping themselves a mystery. 

Still, Josephine appreciated it. She liked flowers. And the handmade-ness implied that whoever had made has made it especially for her. She liked people thinking of her. She wasn’t sure how she’d given the impression she liked purple and white, but it was a nice enough colour choice. Thought had been put into this. 

She placed them to one side of the desk, and got to work reading reports.

A sliver of recognition, a half remembered fact, tickled the back of her thoughts. She did the best to ignore it. _In Orlais, mimosa flowers are a token of affection. Secret affection._

Josephine turned back to the flowers with a start, and leafed through the stems. Mimosa, gardenia, morning glory, and angrec-- She knew Orlais floriography, a little smattering Nevarra’s flower language. It was more frivolous past time than method of communication, but Josephine devoured methods of communicating. Secret admiration, secret admiration, growing affection, and... royalty? The angrec was the odd one out, unless the sender meant to say they regarded Josie as highly as royalty? But that confusion, that unclearness, was minor compared to the whole message. 

Josephine had a secret admirer. Very secretive, considering they sent a message with only flowers, and no note. 

Josephine didn’t mindhaving a secret admirer, the idea even held some appeal, but it mattered who it was. She’d prefer someone shy, a little unsure about how to make the overture, who she knew and liked over someone unknown who’d developed an infatuation from afar. But she did appreciate the flowers as a gift, regardless of who they were from. And it would be impolite to not thank whoever had sent them. That did, however, raise the question of _how_. Her secret admirer had left no clue about who they were. 

She paced around her office. It had to be someone who knew where her office was. This didn’t narrow the field much, but was a starting point. And she wasn’t trying to work out who it was necessarily. She’d like to know, but you didn’t need to know who someone was to send them a thank you.

 _Maybe the fact that they the location of my office is all I need._ She pulled out a glass vase (well, it was a decanter, but it would become a vase) from a cupboard. Pouring from the decanter, she half filled it with water. She walked over to the window, and placed it on the sill. On a scrap piece of paper, she scribbled out a note. 

_Thank you for the lovely flowers. --Josephine Montilyet._

***

Cassandra walked underneath Josephine’s office window. She nearly didn’t see the vase, but the purple and white caught her eye. A little thank you note sat in front of the vase, in Josephine’s careful, looping hand. 

She breathed in deeply. Josephine got the flowers. (That wasn’t actually surprising, but some small part of her was shocked that Josephine had noticed and acknowledged them. ) Josephine _liked_ the flowers. Someone appreciating a gift shouldn’t feel so thrilling-- But Cassandra’s heart raced, and she didn’t know if she wanted to jump for joy or flee for the hills more. 

Josephine may not have understood the message, she’d given no indication, but wasn’t it even more courtly to make gestures to someone who didn’t understand them fully?

***

Cassandra sat on a tree stump, nose deep in a book. 

“Getting into nonfiction, I see,” drawled Varric.

Cassandra fumbled, nearly dropping the book, before hurriedly resting it on her lap.

It was rare that Varric loomed, but him standing and her sitting let him loom. He cocked his head, reading the title. “Antivan Floriography? Which book’s from Antiva?”

“I don’t understand--” 

“Which books were you reading that you need a greater understanding of the beauty and depth Antiva flower language for? I’m pretty sure it’s not one of mine. Me being not from Antiva and all.” 

Cassandra tried to think of an Antivan author, because Varric thinking it was about a trashy book was slightly less embarrassing than the truth, but the struggle must have shown on her face--

“Or _which_ someone from Antiva?” Varric paused, looking up at the sky as he thought of all the 

Antivans they knew, and realised they weren’t that many. “Ruffles?” He barked a laugh. “I mean, you’d suit each other.”

“Really?” 

“Sure. You’re both noble, and while her stick is smaller you both have one up your hind e--” 

“Varric.” 

Varric held up his hands. “Your secret’s safe with me, Seeker. Be careful though. There’s a lot of different flower languages. Wouldn’t want to ask her to put a hit on you. Or worse.” 

Cass raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Worse?”

“In Tevinter, buttercup--”

“In hindsight, I do not wish to know. I-- _appreciate_ \--” She enunciated the word, making it clear she was not being accurate with her use of it “--your concern.” 

Varric ambled away, calling out over his shoulder. “Your loss.” 

***

  


Josephine looked up from her papers, as someone pushed open the door to her office.

Cassandra walked in, looking slightly surprised to see her there. She held a bouquet in her right hand. The outside was a bundle of weeds, separated from the ‘proper’ flowers in the centre by paper wrapping. 

“How can I help?” said Josephine, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the flowers. It wasn’t Cassandra’s fault. Josie had assumed ‘her’ secret admirer had been giving flowers only to her, and not every single eligible woman in Skyhold. There was no reason to believe that Cassandra did not believe that as well. Whoever was doing it had probably convinced every recipient that they were the only one. 

But it was galling to think you were special, and have it turn out that no, you were not. At best, you were part of a _category_.

“I was wondering what the nobility thought of the Chantry. In light of recent events,” Cassandra said.

“That is... a broad question.” Alarmingly broad. Josephine cocked her head. She would have thought Cassandra would already know-- but Josephine couldn’t fault someone for asking. It was part of her job. “The consensus, or the power vacuum?” 

“I imagine most would consider them one and the same.” 

Josephine leaned back into her chair, steepling her fingers as she thought. “There is no one opinion. If you are concerned about whether some will try to expand their power in light of the vacuum... it is possible. At the moment, families powerful enough to try are unlikely to do so. In these times of chaos, they do not wish to risk losing that power. That may not last long, but that is how it is for the moment.” 

“Thank you. That is useful to know.” Cassandra turned to leave, but Josephine interrupted her. 

“Who are those flowers from? A secret admirer?” 

Cassandra glanced down at the flowers, startled. 

Josephine held up her hands. “I do not mean to pry--” 

“Yes,” Cassandra said, quickly. 

“Ah.” Josephine looked at the flowers still on the window sill. “They seem to be giving some to every woman in Skyhold.” It would be better if Cassandra found out earlier rather than later. 

“I’ll-- I’ll look into that.” 

Josephine nodded, and Cassandra left the room. 

***

Josephine returned from lunch to find a bouquet sitting on her finished pile. She sighed. They were the same flowers as Cassandra’s. (Her mind translated the message without the rest of herself’s permission: Alyssum for worth beyond beauty, wattle for concealed love, peppermint for warmth of feeling.) Same paper wrapping too, though this time it was on the outside instead of sandwiched inside.

It was smaller, too. Josephine felt particularly petty for being annoyed by something like that-- but this mass secret admirer was playing favourites? Really?

Josephine would have liked to have swept it off the table. Have it fall dramatically to the floor, have it fall apart. But she knew herself: doing that would not feel cathartic. It would feel silly, and then she would be annoyed at herself for thinking it would have made herself feel better. She placed it to one side, more roughly than usual, and tried to ignore them. 

She’d appreciated the last bouquet. When she thought she was special. 

With a grunt of annoyance, she read her letters. The flowers wouldn’t get out of her head. They swirled distractingly in the back of her thoughts. 

She looked down at them, even more annoyed now that they were being distracting.

The outside of Cassandra’s bouquet had been wrapped in random foliage, with the paper sandwiched between weeds from around Skyhold. What sort of person would wrap a bouquet in weeds? 

Someone playing favourites, Josie guessed. She turned back to the letters. 

Or someone trying to hide it. For example, someone trying to sneak it into someone else’s office. 

Josephine put her thumb and forefinger of her temples, and smiled despite herself. Of course. No one was giving flowers to every woman in Skyhold, and Cassandra wasn’t getting flowers from a secret admirer. Cassandra was exactly the sort of person who wouldn’t lie, but would be _technical_ with the truth. Were the flowers she’d held from a secret admirer? Yes. Were the flowers for her? No. 

It would have been easier if Cassandra had just admitted that-- But she would give a lot more slack to an admirer who was wooing only her.

Not that Josie was filled with passion for her. Cassandra was nice enough. Dependable, respectful, intelligent. Josephine didn’t mind having someone like that as an admirer. But she needed more to fall for someone. Cassandra could have that something more, but Josie didn’t know for sure. There was about a one-in-two chance, if she had to guess.

And even absent any mutual romantic love, they were a lovely gift. They were flattering. And it was a gift that was also an act of communication. 

It had been much harder to show her appreciation when she didn’t know who had sent it, but--

Josephine pulled a pamphlet off the shelf, on Nevarran floriography. It would be nice to send something in her ‘native’ flower language, she thought. Showed a certain amount of attentiveness. She scribbled down a list of flowers to be sent to order. Clasping bellflower for ‘I am flattered’, Wild daisies for ‘I am considering your advance’ and fennel for ‘strength’ because that would suit Cassandra.

***

It took until she’d sat down at her chair for Cassandra to notice the flowers on her desk. She blinked twice. Crisp, patterned paper wrapped them, and the stems snuggled up into a small, neat bundle. It was tied up with string, with note attached: ‘From Josephine Montilyet.’

She’d been found out. 

It was a better outcome than Josephine thinking there was some indiscriminate flower-giver running around Skyhold, but-- Cassandra was being secretive for a _reason_. She would have liked to _stay_ secretive. She didn’t want her identity found out this early. 

At least being given flowers back was a reasonably good sign. Better than a sternly worded note to stop. Cassandra picked up the bundle. Purple stars of clasping bellflower poked out, ‘I am flattered’. That was good. Flattery was near enough what she was aiming for. Fennel flowers for... Cassandra had very little clue. Did it have to do with taste? Was Josie trying to say she was-- spicy? Sweet? Cass doubted that those were the adjectives she chose. 

Finally, white daisy for innocence? That was also puzzling. Who was Josephine calling innocent? Herself, or Cassandra? If the fennel meant sweetness, did the combination mean that Josie thought her advances were sweet and innocent? She’d been hoping that the romantic intention was clear. Or was Josie describing herself as innocent? Trying to express in the confines floriography that she had no idea what Cassandra was getting at. (Or, worse, “I’m flattered, but you’re too... you know, and I’m not.”)

Cassandra took a deep breath. This was not the worst outcome. Far from the worst. She would have rather stayed as a _secret_ admirer, but Josephine hadn’t thrown flowers in her face or done anything else as drastic. She’d sent flowers back. That was good. 

Cassandra breathed again. That was good. 

And it was the all the more reason to keep sending messages in flowers. They’d established a two way communication. It would also give her an opportunity to clarify. (Directness in communication was much better. Directness and clarity. She’d always believed that, found dancing around the issue ineffectual and annoying...but it was an ideal that Cassandra found difficulty in living up to in this case.)

She started planning the next bouquet, taking care to make her meaning clearer this time. Gladiolus for ‘you pierce my heart’, azalea for ‘romance’ and red tulip for a declaration of love. 

***

Josephine pressed her fingers to her lips as she read the bouquet. It made sense. Mostly. Azalea and tulips had an obvious, clear meaning. The bright gladioli, pierced straight through the others, less so.

The bouquet sat in the vase on the window sill, the gladioli stalks tall enough that they threatened to fall out, as Josephine rummaged through the things that she had brought to Skyhold. 

They had surprised her. Gladioli were the flowers of fighting, bloodshed, swordplay. She took a breath.Most likely, Cassandra wanted to spar. Cassandra seemed to make friends, cement bonds, on the sparring grounds more than anywhere else. She wanted to know her more, know her through her swordplay. 

She was likely to be disappointed, Josephine thought. 

Josephine found her rapier, a blunted training one from when she had first learned to fence. She’d gained a grasp of the basics, but it was never where her talent lied. But she’d kept the sword. On the road, a sword at your hip was nearly as much a deterrent as a sword in your hand, and Josephine prayed that it would only ever have to stay in its scabbard. 

She lay it on her bed, as she looked for clothes more suitable for waving a sword around a field than her usual attire. An old pair of indigo breeches, an older larkspur yellow tunic; that would do. She changed, strapped the sword belt around her waist, and walked to the sparring ring. 

Cassandra shook the Inquisitor’s hand, and the Inquisitor left the ring, limping. 

“Are you alright?” Josephine asked, as she and the Inquisitor passed each other. 

The Inquisitor smiled sheepishly. “Hit myself in the knee. I’ll be right.” 

“Don’t push yourself too hard.” 

The Inquisitor nodded and hopped away. 

Josephine turned to Cassandra. “I believe you wished to spar with me?” 

Cassandra frowned, looking momentarily confused and a little flustered. “Certainly.” 

“I will have to admit I am out of practice.” Josephine walked into the ring. 

“All the more reason to get some practice in. Physical pursuits do one good.” Cassandra leaned her shield up against the fence. “So we’re are even.”

Josephine drew her sword, and got herself into her fencing stance. It felt unnatural after all this time. (Not that it hadn’t felt unnatural when she was learning. But still)

“You’ll want to stand a little straighter.” 

Josephine straightened her back, squared her shoulders. She nodded her thanks.

“Ready?” Cassandra asked. 

“Ready.” 

Cassandra did not move, staying in the guard position, waiting for Josephine to set the pace. 

Josephine made a tentative thrust. Cassandra parried it easily. 

Cassandra took the initiative, thrusting her sword. 

Josephine barely got her sword up time to parry. 

The thrust was a feint, and Cassandra scored a point. She nodded, thoughtful. She stood back into starting position. “Ready?” 

“Ready.” Josephine was more prepared for the feinting this time, but in the end Cassandra still scored the point. 

They sparred for many more rounds. Cassandra won the majority of them, but towards the end Josephine score a few for herself. Cassandra peppered the space between rounds with advice, but she mostly taught by showing, gently pointing out the weaknesses in Josephine’s technique, and adding weaknesses to her own, waiting for Josephine to spot them.

Josephine leant against a wall, panting, sweat dripping from the nape of her neck down her back. 

Cassandra walked over. “If you were rusty, the rust fell off quickly.”

Josephine smiled. “Not as well as you.” 

Cassandra shrugged. “I make my living through fighting. It is not surprising.” Cassandra picked up and handed a jug of water to Josephine. 

Josephine gulped it down greedily. 

“I should thank you. I know this is not your usual sort of activity. I appreciate the thought.” 

“Well, you did ask,” Josephine said 

Cassandra cocked her head to the side, confused. 

“--I thought you asked.” 

“I still appreciate it.” Cassandra lifted her hand, telegraphing her next movement, giving Josephine a chance to move away. It felt amusingly obvious after the feinting of their sparring. She rested her hand on Josephine’s shoulder. “Thank you.” 

The heat soaked through the thin fabric of Josephine’s tunic. “It was my pleasure. Thank you for teaching me.” 

“My pleasure also.” 

Josephine left, still out of breath. When she’d first given Cassandra’s odds of winning her over, it had only been one in two. She’d have to re-evaluate that now. 

***

Josephine organised a bouquet to say ‘thank you.’ It seemed only polite. 

...No it was more than that. She was actually thankful for the time Cassandra had taken to teach her. Sweetpea for ‘thank you for a lovely time’ and currant flower for ‘thankfulness’ only had a little variety, but it was a serviceable selection. No need to muddy the message. 

***

Cassandra was less surprised by the bouquet in her office this time. It was plain, only two different flowers, but it was pretty. She pulled out the flower dictionary she’d bought at the market. Currant flower for thankfullness, and sweetpea for... a departure or a goodbye. 

She frowned. That didn’t seem correct? Or at least, it was unexpected. She’d heard of no plans for Josephine to leave or travel. It could have been a figurative departure, a goodbye from this method of communication or courtship. 

Cassandra had appreciated the... ambiguity of flower language. No, ambiguity was not right. She liked the indirectness. You didn’t have to speak face to face, and you didn’t have to send sentences, or coherent thoughts. You could send impressions, short snippets of concept and idea. And she’d liked that. It was protective in a way. One didn’t have to be coherent, force jumbling ideas in the cage of subject-verb-object. 

It was protective in other ways, too. She didn’t have to see how Josie reacted, didn’t have to talk face to face in real time. 

But those advantages were also this downfall. Whether Josephine was merely going to a different place, or was bowing out of their flower conversation _mattered_. And the best way to resolve it would be to speak face to face, to remove as much ambiguity as possible. 

It was somewhat inevitable. One couldn’t maintain a courtship purely through the medium of flowers. One would eventually have to talk. But it would have been nicer to have more time, Cassandra thought. 

***

Josephine walked into the mess hall, and sat across the table from Cassandra. “You wished to speak with me?” 

“I did not wish to be presumptuous, but I must ask you something. I fear I may have misinterpreted your last message. Or not, as the case may be.” 

Someone shouted across the room. “Finally!”

Cassandra and Josie turned at the same time. 

Varric gestured with a half eaten trencher. “You’re actually _communicating_. I’m proud of you, Seeker.” 

“Varric,” said Cassandra darkly. 

Josephine put on her sweetest, most diplomatic smile. It had a sharp edge between her top and bottom teeth. “Do you generally meddle in others’ affairs?” 

Varric muttered, and turned back to his food. 

Cassandra turned back to Josephine. She sat up straight, more like she was giving a report than having a casual conversation. “In your last bouquet, you said you were departing?” 

Josephine blinked twice, waved both hands in front of her chest. “No, no! I was thanking you for your teaching. I had no idea either flower meant that. I thought they both meant ‘thank you’.” 

Cassandra nodded. “Then I am glad I checked.” 

Josephine held her fingers to her mouth, frowning. “I can’t think of any circumstance where either would mean leaving.” 

Cassandra paused. To Josephine, she looked like she was marshalling words, finding their best shape, from the way she glanced to the side. “In Antivan floriography--” she spoke slowly, trying to avoid sounding like she was explaining something Josephine already knew “--sweetpea means goodbye.” 

“Antivan? I thought you were sending in Orlais flower language.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “I don’t know a word of it. A flower of it.” 

Josephine’s hand went back up her mouth, this time covering it. “I was replying in Nevarran.” 

“I am--” a nervous glance to the side “--equally ignorant of that.” 

“I am quite sorry.” Josephine’s ears grew hot. 

“Don’t be. I didn’t specify myself.” 

“You weren’t actually asking me to fight you, were you? With the gladioluses?” 

“I am not unhappy that you chose to spar with me, but I did not directly ask, no. I was surprised when you offered,” said Cassandra. 

“What do they mean.” 

More nervousness, eyes going from glancing to the side to darting. “They... they don’t mean fighting.” 

Josephine didn’t respond, just nodded. There wasn’t a thread to grab there. But she didn’t want to pry. 

Cassandra sighed. She telegraphed her hand again. She reached out, and held Josephine’s hand. “‘You pierce my heart.’ That’s what gladiolus means.” 

Josephine squeezed her hand. 

“I was trying to make my intentions clearer, as I am now.” Cassandra said. “I did not fully understand your message --and now I may know why-- and I wanted to make sure you know what I meant.” 

“Apart from that one flower, you were perfectly clear.” 

Cassandra kept her hand on Josephine’s. “I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable, or push to far.” 

Josephine smiled, gently. “If you did, I would tell you. And not with flowers.” 

“Do you-- do you feel similarly?” 

“I don’t know.” Josephine squeezed her hand again. “I wish I could be clearer, I do--” It was Josephine’s turn to pause to phrase her thoughts. To shape her words into something both truthful and not hurtful, some amalgamation that did not weaken either of them. She did not wish to give false hope, but she did not wish to reject Cassandra. Josephine _liked_ her. And that was what created the push-pull between those to things. “--but I am slow to court.” 

“Then I shall court you as slowly as you deserve.” Cassandra lifted Josephine’s hand, with that same careful telegraphing as always, brought it to her lips, and kissed Josephine’s knuckles. 

Josephine tried to say something, but no thoughts could be marshalled into words. Blood rushed to her cheeks. 

Cassandra smiled-- still somewhat nervously-- and left. 

Josie didn’t recalculate the odds. Cassandra had rolled the dice... and won. No, _they_ had won. By all accounts, Cassandra had successfully courted her. With just flowers, she did well, but her medium constrained her. But in person? She was beyond charming. Josephine had fallen. The careful telegraphing, the care in general--

Josephine had only half understood the appeal of courting. She appreciated the set of rules, the social convention it created, and in some sense she could see the elegance of the roles it created even if they chafed. But she had never seen how romance fitted with it. She was aware that it did, of course, but she did have the knowledge of how it did.

With Cassandra, it wasn’t just a set of rules, it was a grammar, a language. Like the flowers. And Cassandra used to express care and carefulness. 

_A marriage with a Pentaghast would have political advantage--_ Josephine cut off that train of thought. It was far, far to early to think of that. Plus, she thought as she smiled, Cassandra was unlikely to appreciate that. 

***

In the morning, Josephine opened the door to her quarters to find another bouquet. There was a greater abundance of string and paper tags than usual.

Josephine picked it up. Each stalk had a reef-knotted string and a tag wrapped around it. Josephine run her fingers down from one stalk to it’s tag. Cassandra’s hand was a simple print, clear and utilitarian. “Dandelion: happiness and faithfulness” said one tag. Josephine traced her fingers along the strings, finding the the rest. “Fuschia: confiding love” and “Myrtle: love and joy.” 

Josephine smiled, and then laughed. Not for humour, but for her lungs and voicebox singing out to express happiness with the rest of her. Cassandra had labelled the flowers. Josephine couldn’t articulate why it was wonderful... but it was. It was wonderful, and sweet, and many other adjectives. 

The bouquet Josephine sent back was plain, only a single flower. But she only needed one to express her idea. Bright, golden jonquil. It was late in the season, but it was still available. 

She wrote slowly, with her best hand. 

“Affection Returned.” 


End file.
